Shedding
by TheLadyWhovian
Summary: Jenny struggles to understand her lady's sudden change in behavior and mood as Vastra begins to molt for the first time since coming to the surface.


I watch my Madame as she lays across the settee, her usually bright and vibrant scales just barely shimmering in the dim light cast by the oil lamps and candles. Her hands are folded on her lap, one of her gloves having slipped off.

Usually she casts off her gloves at the door, unless we have guests. Lately she's been wearing them everywhere, even when it's only us. Now I can see why.

The scales on her hand are a sickly white and grey. I go over to my mistress, kneeling down next to her and taking her grey hand in my own gloved one. I rub the skin with my thumb, inspecting the flaky scales with interest. She stirs slightly, her head lolling to one side, but her cerulean eyes stay shut. I press a soft kiss to the hand, still unsure of why my lady is suddenly so fatigued and why she's experiencing these changes.

"Miss, please get up." I stroke her scaly arm, but she hisses at me and turns on her side so her back is to me. "What's wrong, Ma'am? If I knew I could 'elp you."

"Jenny, go run me a bath." She grumbles, her head buried in a throw pillow. I nod, obediently.

"'course, Miss. Would you like me to bathe with you?" I ask, knowing that she enjoys my company while she washes.

"No." She mutters, her voice scratchy and strained. I feel a little bit hurt by her denial. I stroke her spiky head, nodding.

"Shall I start supper?" I place kisses on the back of her neck, to which she squirms in obvious delight and joy.

"I'm not in need of nourishment at the moment. You can make yourself something, but I simply need a bath and maybe some tea." She turns to face, but keeps her beautiful eyes tightly shut. The short lashes on her eyes rest on her cheek, creating a pretty contrast to the now dull green of her face.

"I'll go run you a tub, then make you a strong cuppa." I place one more kiss on her scaly forehead, before leaving her on the couch. She makes small noises of discomfort as she gets up.

I've always found her noises endearing. The guttural gasps and cries of pain or sorrow. Her deep moans of pleasure when I touch that spot just below her hip. The sighs of delight she thinks I can't hear. I sometimes wonder if all Silurians make the noises she does, but the thoughts are soon lost when she grunts in displeasure because I've stopped rubbing her belly.

"Daydreaming again, dear?" I hear her voice from behind me and I jump. I turn on the ball of my foot, looking at my beautiful mistress. She moves her head in confusion, her eyes still tightly shut.

"Sorry, Ma'am." I bow my head, knowing she'll be disappointed in me and my straying thoughts..

"It's quite alright, dearest. I know how you mammals love your fantasies." She rubs her eyelid with her thumb, frowning and making that adorable little groan of discomfort.

"Is something wrong with your eyes, Miss? You 'aven't opened them in a long while." I watch as she scrunches her face up in mild upset.

"I don't want to frighten you with how my eyes look at the moment." She removes her thumb from her eyelid, before sniffing the air. She moves forward and finds me with ease, her arms lacing around my neck and pulling me to her. "Ah humans, how easy it is to track you with your distinct scents."

"I won't be frightened, Vastra." I look up at her, touching the dull scales of her face, upset they weren't as brilliant and lustrous as they usually were.

She slowly opens her bright azure eyes with obvious difficulty, except her eyes don't look as ardent or as stunningly blue as the last time I'd seen them. They were milky and glossed over. She tries to avoid my gaze, but she ends up looking into my soft, hazel eyes.

"Can I 'elp?" I whisper, running my fingers just under her eye. She smiles lightly, kissing my lips with the tender passion she'd learned after the first few failed attempts at kissing which resulted in a bitten lip, a chipped tooth, two unfortunate bruises, and a black eye.

"It's normal, dear. It'll go away eventually." She nuzzles her head against mine, which has become her way of silently telling me she loves me.

"If you say so, Ma'am. Let me go run your bath." I try to squirm out of her arms, but she holds me tight.

"I can go get it started. You can go make tea, and then come sit with me while I bathe. I'd like your company, but not in the tub with me." She kisses me warmly, her skilled lips dancing perfectly with mine.

"'course, Miss. I'll go put on the kettle." I slip away, smiling as I watch her tight rear sway back and forth while she walks.

As I put on the kettle, I feel sort of hurt by the fact she doesn't want me to bathe with her. We usually have a real good time when she allows me to wash with her. I stoke the fire idly as I think about her, smiling involuntarily as I hear her banging about in the bathroom. I grab two cups, putting them on a tray along with the bowl of sugar and cup of cream.

When the kettle is done, I pull it off the fire and pour the water into the cups, watching as the little green leaves float to the top. I grab a small knife from the drawer, poking the tip of my finger with it. A perfect red blot of blood bubbles up and starts to run. I let it drip into the cup I know is Madame's. She doesn't take her tea with cream or sugar. She likes it with a few drops of blood, but I'd never tell her it's mine.

I dab my finger on the inside of my apron, making sure the blood isn't visible. I take the tray and start for the bathroom. I hear noises of joy and delight, mixed with mild discomfort. I look into the room, watching as my mistress rubs her nude body against the wall. I furrow my brow, putting the tea tray down on the counter.

"Ma'am, what on earth are you doing?" I ask, watching as she pulls away and looks at me with her murky blue eyes.

"Sorry, dearest. I was just a bit itchy." She moves forward, picking up the teacup and sipping it gingerly. "What sweet relief this human delicacy brings, although it tastes oddly wonderful for something so simple. Water and a leaf or two, but there's a much deeper taste."

I hide my face with my hair, which is coming loose from it's pins. She passes me her cup, a look of knowing crossing her serene features. I blushed wildly, unsure why I was so worried about her knowing of my sacrifice, although it could hardly be considered that. A few drops of blood for my lady's pleasure was not unreasonable.

"Jenny darling, hold this while I get settled in the tub." She pushes the cup into my hand, before grabbing the hand I'd maimed for her tea. She takes my finger between two of hers, placing a delicate kiss reminiscent of a butterfly wing beating against my skin. Her eyes flick up to meet mine and I feel my cheeks flush with heat and feel much like a foolish young girl again, spying the pretty ladies from the alley I often played in.

I hold the cup while she slides into the tub, sighing in a mixture of relief and delight as the water lapped against her body. Her legs and stomach were entirely submerged, but her perky green breasts were just barely in the steaming water. One arm dangled over the edge, while the other was behind her head, acting as a rest of sorts.

"My tea?" She coos, holding out the hand that was dangling so carelessly over the lip of the tub. I pass her the tea, smiling when her long, green fingers meld around the porcelain cup with a gentle grace I'd spent hours teaching her. Those hours paid off when she cradled my cheek lovingly for the first time, or when we were first intertwined sexually, her hand cupping my breast in that gentle, caring way, before allowing her mouth to take it's place.

She gestures for me to take a seat, so I grabbed the small wooden chair I used when she wanted me to read her a case while she soaked from the small linen closet and set it up beside the tub. She smiles, sipping her tea but never taking her eyes off me. I grab my tea from the tray, pouring a dollop of cream in. She dips her finger in my tea, playfully.

Madame squeezes her eyes shut, suddenly and without notice. She starts to rub violently at them, getting me to cringe. I reach forward, pulling her hand away and replacing it with the pad of my thumb. I run it over the eyelid, noticing how rough her skin had suddenly become. It was like fine powder covered it. As I massaged the skin, it started to loosen and a few scales flaked off. She started to make little sighs and whimpers of delight, leaning into my thumb. I start to do the same on her other eye with my forefinger.

After a few minutes of rubbing, she opens her eyes and blinks slowly at me. Her eyes look puffy and swollen, urging me to believe I'd done something wrong. I open my mouth and tears build in my eyes, an apology already forming in my mind. Before I can even get the first word out, a long finger is pressed against my lips.

"It's normal, dear. You did nothing wrong. Quite the contrary, you helped loosen the skin quite a bit." She runs the finger over my lips, causing me to stare in confusion and mild concern. Her finger starts to trace the rest of my features, stopping on the tip of my nose. She smiles lazily, poking my nose with her claw.

"I still don't understand what's going on." I whisper, desperate to know why my mistress is acting in such an odd manner or at least why her scales were becoming so rough. She grabs my hand, pressing a firm kiss to the palm of it. Her tongue flicks out and tastes my flesh, which causes a smile to rise on her lips.

"It's nothing a mammal would understand. You just have to be patient and understanding." She buries her face in my hand, nuzzling it in a loving manner. I stroke her cheek, smiling at the odd patterns of her scales.

Despite the fact we've been together for almost half a year, and together in a much more romantic sense for three months of that time, I still have yet to figure out all of Madame's quirks. She knows me inside and out, but something always seems to be changing with her. I'm sure she feels the same way about me, what with my hair always growing and my tendency to blush, but it seems like there's always something new to discover with her. Whether it be a new place to pinch or slap in return for a pleasurable moan, or a coppery patch of scales on her back she claims to have inherited from her mother, there is always another layer of intrigue and delight to be found within my mistress.

Surely this was just another thing for me to figure out in time, although I'd like to just understand it immediately.

"'course, Miss." I kiss her fully and passionately on the lips, to which she grunts in pure, animalistic lust. Her claws rake across my back, not quite tearing at my dress, but causing me great pleasure nonetheless. She forces my mouth open, her tongue snaking it's way in my mouth, finding mine and teasing it roughly. Her tongue jabs at mine, forcing it into a battle for dominance. Despite my desperate attempts to overpower her tongue, she emerges victorious as always.

I pull away, flushed and breathless, her tongue still partially in my mouth even though our lips are no longer joined. I nibble it playfully, causing her to draw it back into her mouth. She smiles deviously, pressing a closed lip kiss to my neck. I push her away, enjoying the attention, but needing to talk with her.

"Ma'am, do you need any 'elp getting up?" I stand up, taking her hand and starting to try and drag her out of the tub. "Come on, Miss. I'll get you up to the bed and you can rest."

She mutters something under her breath, but still climbs out of the tub. She falls into my waiting arms, groaning in pain. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist, much like the younger girls in the orphanage would when they were sick or tired. I put my arms under her rump, supporting her weight and starting to carry her towards our room.

The lavish fourposter bed stood tall and proud in the room, decorated with very few pillows and a large duvet. An extra blanket was thrown over top for the nippier nights when my body heat alone can't keep Madame warm and happy. Although I feel close to useless when those nights come about, she holds me close and those feelings of insignificance and sorrow melt away, replaced with that of contentment and purpose.

I lay her down on the bed, gently and with care, knowing she can be grumpy when she's disturbed by quick movements or sudden discomfort. She groans, grabbing the front of my dress and pulling me down. I land with a thump and soon have cold, comforting arms wrapped around my waist. I feel her starting to undress herself, her beautiful yet unusually dull scales drawing my eyes to her body and my hands begin to wander out of habit.

"Scratch my back." She commands, snuggling herself into me. I let my nails rake at her back, the scales seeming to come off underneath my fingers, yet staying in tact. I hear her whimpering and gasping in delight as I caress and scratch desperately at her back, loving the thought, the mere notion, of bringing her pleasure and joy at my touch. The thought that someone like me, someone so common and low, could bring someone like her, so magnificent and elegant, such a level of gaiety is overwhelming in itself.

As I claw at her back, she slowly falls asleep, head resting upon my breast. I sigh in delight, feeling very privileged to be allowed to hold my mistress in such a way. In such a romantic and loving manner. There was a time I thought that holding her at all was a silly fantasy, a secret desire meant to be locked away, for surely no one else could ever feel such things for another lady, let alone one so oddly unique. That isn't to say my mistress isn't beautiful, for she is incomparably gorgeous. Yet not many people can look past the general shock of her scales and lack of hair, save for the few tiny lashes on her eyelids.

Eventually I did get to hold my lady. It was a frigid night and she insisted the only way to keep herself warm was if she had the heat of another. So I stripped down and clambered into the bed with her, giddy as a child on Christmas. After she had fallen asleep, I had caressed every inch of her body with such attention to detail that I had memorized the scaly patterns of her back before morning drew near. After that night I'd found that if I kept the fires down and the windows cracked open just enough to let the cold in, but enough to not be noticeable, she'd demand I curl up with her, allowing my wildest fantasies to come into the light as I held her nude body in my arms or vice versa, given all the time in the world to simple stare at her ethereal beauty.

Almost three months after my employment had begun, she had started to notice that I enjoyed spending such vast amounts of time with her. I was ashamed. I'd been caught and my mistress was surely disgusted with me, horrified by the thought of a lowly mammal such as myself daring to imagine herself in the heat of passion with her. But she addressed the situation delicately, bringing it up over tea. She asked why I enjoy being in her presence so often. I had replied with an honest answer, albeit not entirely truthful. I had claimed that I found her to be good company and that we shared many common views on humanity. It had both done us many wrongs before.

As I lay here, holding her as I do often now, I inspect the wooden frame of the bed and all of it's intricate markings, depicting our growth as a partnership. The nail marks from where I grabbed the railing, marking one of our more recent activities. The familiar teeth marks from where she had bitten down on the headboard to keep her scream in the first time I had serviced her in a much more intimate way.

We had been discussing trivial things such as preferred variety of tea, the best way to dispose of a body, favourite kind of biscuit, and other such nonsense. She was dressed rather boldly, nothing but a mans button up shirt, barely buttoned up, and a pair of short black trousers. She had been sprawled out, gin in one hand while the other was being used to chat animatedly and add dramatics to the conversation. I was in my regular uniform, but my apron was thrown into some corner of the room and my hair was askew from running my fingers through it out of nervous habit.

I look to my sleeping lover, watching as she twitches in her sleep, muscles contracting then relaxing, her breathing picking up speed. I know she's dreaming of hunting and a part of me cringes, knowing that it's humans she's hunting in her dream.

Hunting. Her favourite sport, she had told me, gesturing grandly with her free hand. She would hunt apes with her sisters, killing them without a second thought. I had nodded meekly, trying not to imagine myself speared by her swift sword. She had seen my look and softened considerably, telling me she much preferred hunting criminals now, with me by her side, she had added in an attempt to ease my mind. Her hand had caressed my cheek, curiosity filling her twinkling blue eyes. I was different, she had whispered. Never would she consider hurting me. Her words were so sharp and precise, as if she had imagine saying them many times before.

Her lips move in a soft pattern as she sleeps, almost as if she's speaking, but I know better. She's tasting the air. Silurians have an uncanny knack for being able to pick up on emotions and thoughts using nothing but scent and taste.

She had moved her lips ever so slightly and I knew she could taste it. Taste my burning lust for her, my bubbling love that I tried so hard to keep locked away, but had let escape in a moment of blissful impulse as she caressed my cheek. Her head had come forward and she pulled my face towards hers. My breathing was heavy and it took everything I had to not outright kiss her in those few agonizing seconds our faces were so close, yet still so separated.

Now kisses seem so natural. We share them often, if only to remind ourselves that what we have is pure and real, not simply fantasies playing through our minds. If we have company over, the kisses are well hidden and disguised. If I should lean in to whisper, I'll catch a kiss on the cheek and my cheeks will flush. But alone, when there's no one to gawk, we share many kisses, from passionate lip locks laced with lust and desire, to sweet pecks in thanks for some menial task.

But our first kiss was different. We were nervous, both of us. She was so curious, obviously never having kissed a human before. I had shared a few kisses with the sweet barmaid, but nothing like that. Nothing so true and full of love as my first kiss with Vastra. Our lips had met in such a delicious dance of sin and passion. I could barely comprehend what we were doing, barely understand the magnitude of the situation. All I knew was that I loved it and I never wanted it to stop.

When Madame starts to awaken, she stretches her arms and pulls me closer. Her mouth is pressed against my shoulder, a little bit of drool spilling out over her green lips and onto my shoulder. I squirm at the feeling of the warm saliva, but settle down once she places a scaly hand on the back of my neck. She mumbles something unintelligible against my skin, before rubbing herself against me. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip, hands gripping at her shoulder blades. She wiggles her body against mine, getting my whole body to tighten in delight and slight annoyance.

"Ma'am, stop." I coo, caressing her spiky head as I had hundreds of times before. She grunts softly, but stops her rubbing.

"Still itchy." She mutters, still half asleep and sounding rather perturbed. I start to scratch at her scales, getting her to groan and stretch languidly. "Not good enough. Get a rake."

"I'm not going to use a rake to scratch you, Miss." I roll my eyes, sitting up and stretching my arms. She curls up with her head in my lap and starts to rub her head on my thighs and stomach.

"Would you go down to the drawing room? I have some things I must attend to." She looks up at me, reaching up to touch my face. Her fingers play with my hair and stroke my warm, slightly flushed cheeks.

"Do you need any help?" I toy with the long spikes on her head, getting her to purr. I put my hand on her throat, feeling the soft vibration.

"No. It's something I need to do alone." She rolls off my lap, slowly. Her movements aren't as swift as usual, which is unusual this time of year. She's usually only dopey and slow when it's cold out.

"'course, Madame. If you need any help, just call." I curtsy shortly, before scurrying out of the room. I know her tone was one of finality and it meant she needed alone time.

At first, that tone meant she was going to mourn her sisters and didn't want to see me. Didn't want a reminder of the species that destroyed everything she loved. After a little while, it became her way of sneaking away to...relieve herself. I caught her one time. I had prepared a lovely dinner for her, thought I could convince her that cooked meat tasted just as good as raw. I never got the chance to.

I remember it perfectly. I had opened the door just enough to slip in with my tray, granted I was very cautious having heard sighs and grunts coming from behind the closed door. I was offended, thinking she was training without me. When I slipped into the room, it was like one of my perverted fantasies coming to life before my eyes. She was splayed across her work chair, legs spread widely and giving me quite the view. One hand was gripping the arm of the chair, fingernails tearing upholstery, while the other was on her bare breasts, squeezing and pinching. I could feel my cunt growing hot and wet, and I dropped the tray of food on the ground. Vastra had jumped and her eyes had flown open. Neither of us had been able to speak. I eventually had the sense to run out of the room. We never spoke of it or brought it up. Although it was at the forefront of my mind as I pleasured myself for a long time after that.

Suddenly it dawns on me that I'm standing in the middle of the hallway with my hand down the neck of my dress and fondling my breast. I pull my hand out, shocked at my own actions. My cheeks grow hot and I start to adjust my dress in an attempt to hide my sudden arousal.

"Jenny, I need assistance." I jump nearly a foot in the air at the sound of Vastra's voice. I turn around, seeing her head sticking out of our bedroom door.

I go over to her, frowning when she tries to hide her body from me. She's crouched behind her chair, head bowed and entire body hidden. I sit on the edge of the bed and gesture silently for her to come over.

"Promise you're not going to be disgusted by me." She whispers, very unlike herself. I furrow my brow, not sure why she's being so shy and frightened.

"I promise, Vastra." I watch as she slowly rises and I can't help myself as I gasp in surprise.

Her beautiful skin is hanging off her, some of it in long strips and other in large, scaly slabs. I put a hand over my mouth, suddenly comprehending what was wrong with her.

"You should 'ave told me you were molting." I stand up, touching her face lovingly. She blinks slowly, her eyes bloodshot.

"I didn't think you would understand." Her voice is raspy and she seems almost worn out. I go around so her back is to me.

"When I was younger, the boys always used to bring lizards and snakes back to the orphanage. We'd take care of them, making sure they were safe. 'elp them molt." I start to gently tug at the loose skin, helping ease it along. She groans, arching into my hands.

"So I'm a snake some little boy brought home for you?" She teases, leaning into me and letting me tug her skin.

"Don't be silly, Miss." I kiss her neck as I pull down on the skin. "You were the one who found me and took care of me."

"My sweet mammal, you would have died had I not found you that night." Her arm snakes around behind her head and caresses my cheek. Tears well up in my eyes.

"I know, Ma'am. And I'll be forever grateful for your timely intervening." I rest my forehead on the top of her spine, sighing heavily. The tears slip from my eyes, landing on her scaly back and rolling down until they dripped onto the carpet.

"I didn't mean it like that, dearest. Don't cry." She turns to face me, her eyes wide and understanding. "You know that I'm glad I found you as well."

She pulls me into her scaly, comforting arms, letting me cry into her chest. She pulls my hair out of the many pins holding it in place, letting it fall down my back. I feel kisses being placed on the top of my head and I melt into her arms. She uses one hand to stroke my hair and the other hand is running up and down my back.

"I may have saved you from death that night, but you saved me from myself. I don't know what would have come of me had I not found you." She whispers, tilting my chin up and placing a delicate kiss on my lips. I closed my eyes, arms winding around her neck and grabbing at her spikes in an attempt to keep myself steadied.

When she pulls away, I'm blushing wildly and my hair a complete mess. She pulls me in for a hug, one of thanks and love, letting me know she really does appreciate my work for her, along with my devotion to her. I feel the vibration in her throat that's the start of a growl and know she's getting itchy again.

"Go back to scratching yourself. I can go down to the kitchens and..." I'm cut off by two firm hands pushing me onto the bed.

"Stay." She whispers. I hear something I rarely ever get to hear in her thick, confident voice. Desperation. A plea. Not an order or a question. She was begging.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable." I lean back against the pillows, my hands worrying at the duvet. She puts a cool hand on mine, getting my fidgeting to stop.

"I trust you to keep me warm and safe and loved. If I had to put my life in someone's hands, they'd be yours. I want you to be here when it happens." She presses her lips to my forehead and I sigh in content. "I'm not proud of what I'm about to do and I know it'll look gruesome, but I want you to see."

She walks away and slowly pulls at the dead skin hanging loosely from her torso. It comes off in a great sheet, fragile and nearly see through. It falls to the ground like discarded clothes. As she continues to tear away strips of the dead skin, it starts to sink in for me. She's literally shedding old skin, tearing away at it. Her fingers work at it slowly and methodically, never outright ripping, but tearing slowly and meaningfully.

The skin catches and starts to become harder to discard of. She grunts in discomfort, but then finds a way to loosen the skin. She starts to rub herself against the bed post, much like the strays in the alleys that rub against my legs when I put out a saucer of milk for them in the evenings. She moves her body against it, grunting and moaning as she does so.

It's all very animal like, so primitive and natural. The grunts of anger or moans of pleasure as skin is either tugged at too hard or loosened. The way she moves, not as graceful as usual, not as perfectly planned out. Instead, it's more of a manic need to rid herself of the skin. The guttural noises she makes add to the sort of mad need for her to strip the skin away.

The more she becomes like a desperate animal, the more arousing it seems. So erotic and perverted, the way my mind works. I want to make her desperate like that, make her beg wordlessly for my touches, moaning throatily when I comply. The more I imagine the situation, the hotter it becomes.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm reaching for her. Reaching out to touch her, but when I get close she growls and bares her sharp teeth. I recoil, disheartened by her reaction. I sit there, barely a foot away from her, but not allowed to touch her. Her skin is coming off in strips, almost all of it on the floor. She claws at her face, tearing away the skin around her spikes and face. I want to help, but am afraid of being rejected again.

So I stay still, watching the way her body contorts and moves, the way her muscles ripple and make me red in the cheeks. My whole body yearns for her skin on mine, but I hold back, knowing my desires are senseless and she'd never allow me to dominate her fully. True, I could get her wriggling on her back, but she somehow always managed to pin my wrists and manoeuvre them how she saw fit no matter how hard I tried to take control.

Eventually, her body collapses to the floor in a heap, lying amongst the discarded skin. I get up, lifting her limp body into my arms and dragging her to the bed. I pull her up onto it, laying her out and positioning myself so I'm holding her from behind.

A shock runs through my body when her cold hands find a way to intertwine with mine and a throaty chuckle escapes her lips. I give myself a second to let my heartbeat calm down, before mustering all the courage I have and confessing my pent up desires to her.

"Let me make you like that." I whisper, kissing about where her ear would be. "Give me the chance to make you beg for more. I want to dominate you."

She turns to face me, azure eyes tired and dopey, her eyelids drooping and lips slightly parted. She blinks slowly, taking in my expression, which I hope is one of alluring dominance. She rests her forehead against mine, shadow of a smile teasing at her lips.

"Another night, Jenny. I don't need dominance right now. I need my soft, willing mammal to snuggle me until the sun rises in the morning, or perhaps, if I'm feeling particularly lazy, until it sets tomorrow evening." She rubs our noses together, getting me to smile.

"'course, Ma'am." I pull her close, knowing I'll get my chance to dominate her eventually. She snuggles into me, showing me the side no one else has been lucky enough to see.

Her softer side. The one that doesn't care for swords and bloodshed, but instead fancies warm tea and snuggling in front of the fire. The one that sings sweet lullabies and plays with my hair as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. The side that barely sees the light of day. The side of my mistress that only I get to see.

It's an honour to be held above others in this respect. To know I'm the one she wants to have in her bed, the one she dares show this side to, the one who she trusts enough to let watch her at her weakest. I love Vastra, even if there aren't a whole lot of people who would understand why.

People don't matter much anyway. Not when I'm with her.


End file.
